By many small kindnesses Sidney had made herself popular. And there was

more to it than that. She never shirked. The other girls had the respect

for her of one honest worker for another. The episode that had caused her

suspension seemed entirely forgotten. They showed her carefully what she

was to do; and, because she must know the "why" of everything, they

explained as best they could.

It was while she was standing by the great sterilizer that she heard,

through an open door, part of a conversation that sent her through the day

with her world in revolt.

The talkers were putting the anaesthetizing-room in readiness for the

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afternoon. Sidney, waiting for the time to open the sterilizer, was busy,

for the first time in her hurried morning, with her own thoughts. Because

she was very human, there was a little exultation in her mind. What would

these girls say when they learned of how things stood between her and their

hero--that, out of all his world of society and clubs and beautiful women,

he was going to choose her?

Not shameful, this: the honest pride of a woman in being chosen from many.

The voices were very clear.

"Typhoid! Of course not. She's eating her heart out."

"Do you think he has really broken with her?"

"Probably not. She knows it's coming; that's all."

"Sometimes I have wondered--"

"So have others. She oughtn't to be here, of course. But among so many

there is bound to be one now and then who--who isn't quite--"

She hesitated, at a loss for a word.

"Did you--did you ever think over that trouble with Miss Page about the

medicines? That would have been easy, and like her."

"She hates Miss Page, of course, but I hardly think--If that's true, it was

nearly murder."

There were two voices, a young one, full of soft southern inflections, and

an older voice, a trifle hard, as from disillusion.

They were working as they talked. Sidney could hear the clatter of bottles

on the tray, the scraping of a moved table.

"He was crazy about her last fall."

"Miss Page?" (The younger voice, with a thrill in it.) "Carlotta. Of course this is confidential."

"Surely."

"I saw her with him in his car one evening. And on her vacation last

summer--"

The voices dropped to a whisper. Sidney, standing cold and white by the

sterilizer, put out a hand to steady herself. So that was it! No wonder

Carlotta had hated her. And those whispering voices! What were they

saying? How hateful life was, and men and women. Must there always be

something hideous in the background? Until now she had only seen life.

Now she felt its hot breath on her cheek.




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